The Timekeeper
by starryeyedx3
Summary: He was from the future. She was from the past. Chris has been assigned a new charge, Ava, who just happens to be a time traveller running for her life. He isn't interested in helping her, he has his own future to save. Chris/OC
1. If You Forget Me

_A/N: I hope you guys don't find this chapter too confusing, all will be explained as the story progresses._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the unknown characters appearing in later chapters._

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_**San Francisco, 1988.**_

She watched from behind a tree, waiting for the tears to come. But Ava knew that they wouldn't. With emotions kept under lock and key tears rarely made it to the surface. The early morning sun bathed everything in a warm glow. It would have been beautiful had it not been for the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach reminding her of immediate danger. She watched the tiny figures pour inside the high school, some sat together on the crisp emerald grass laughing heedlessly. Her eyes focussed on one particular figure sitting on a low, red brick wall, carefully scanning the approaching crowd, evidently waiting for someone to arrive. The girl was waiting for her, Ava knew. The other youths gathered in circles discussing weekend plans, movies they wanted to see, music they listen to, blissfully oblivious of the fragile balance that kept another world from spilling into their own, a world of death and demons and fear and bloodshed. She could taste the bitter envy on her tongue.

Seventeen years of watching other peoples happiness, never knowing the luxury of friendship. _It was dangerous to get close to people, especially people not quite like us_, is what her mother would tell her. Not to be cruel but to simply warn her. It hadn't stopped her yearning for someone to share her secrets with, to acknowledge her presence, someone to teach her how to feel something again. Two weeks ago Ava had found these qualities in an unexpected source, a teenage girl named Prue Halliwell. Being around her was a refreshing change. She didn't believe in witches or demons or monsters under her bed, she was blissfully and expectantly normal. It was Prue sitting on the red brick wall waiting and waiting for Ava to arrive just like any other day.

Dangers had crept up once again, threatening to destroy yet another attempted life she had built for herself. It was time to run again. Soon Prue would realise that her friend was not going to show up on time this morning and attend her classes as normal, go to her locked as she would any other day, discover a folded note inside it written on a crinkled page torn from a notebook, inside revealing just one line:

_I'm going away for a while._

_Ava._

Following her absence she may think of Ava all the time, worrying, wondering where she is and why she doesn't call. But weeks will pass and she will think of her less and less. Her life will move on to grandeur and maturity until the short time she spent with her is but a blurred memory in a life filled with joy and laughter. At least that's what Ava hoped for her.

She tore her eyes away realising that she had been watching too long, forcing her feet to step away. Leaves rustled in the wind like whispers carried through the air, warning her. The autumn chill has left trees half exposed and what's left of the golden brown foliage clinging to their branches. She felt like those trees; like everything and everyone had been ripped away from her. Her legs lead her away until she's sure she can resist looking back, she could not, would not, risk anybody discovering that there was someone in her life that she cared about.

She was sure she was being watched she just didn't know for how long, if they had seen her with Prue, if today would be the day they would finally kill her. She glanced down at the slice on the back of her wrist dripping crimson down her fingertips. That was the reason she couldn't stay here any longer, or more so the person who had inflicted it on her.

She found herself in wooded area where sweaty people jogged past and infants cooed over ducks floating on a silvery lake, trees encircled the park with leaves of olive green and mahogany. Further past where the asphalt pathway lead was a clearing granting entry to the bordering woodlands, almost like a nature trail except that there was no path leading up to it. If she could sneak between the evergreens it would provide privacy from prying eyes lurking in the shadows, mortal or otherwise.

Reaching the trees she felt eyes on her, she quickened her pace. Something heavy knocked her to the ground with a thud. In a heartbeat she had rolled onto her back only to be met with a shining blade carving reckless slits through the air. The first of which landed on her leg, near her hip, ripping through denim fabric and flesh. She screamed out but knew it would do no good; her attacker wouldn't stop until she was dead.

Clutching a dagger now dripping with her blood, was a boy who looked about as scared as she felt. He was young, too young to be burdened with the task of murder, his hair a dark, sandy blond set in tight curls. He couldn't have been much older than she was, eighteen at the most. For just a moment his dark eyes locked onto hers, a split second of remorse in them. He hesitated briefly before slamming the dagger down for its final blow. A mistake. She swung onto her side and kicked a leg into his abdomen with as much force as her body would allow, ignoring the blistering acidic pain it caused her injured leg. There was no time for pain, no time to struggle to her feet. She started to run.

Her hair swirled behind her in the wind as she regretted not tying back her dusty blonde tresses. All she carried with her was a copper messenger bag with its leather strap slung around her neck and the clothes on her back, practically all she owned. Her body was scattered in cuts and scrapes from their first encounter.

She ignored the dizzying pain and stitch in her side and commanded her body to keep moving. Her attacker, she knew all too well, was one of the henchmen working for the man who had been chasing her for as long as she could remember.

All she knew about him was what her mother had told her: that he wore the face of a man but inside he was a monster, something not of this world. Ava had never heard her refer to him by name, only that it was imperative that he never find either of them. He had never come for them himself, it was always his henchmen that did his dirty work and followed their trail, which made it much more difficult to distinguish trustworthy people.

Her heart was pounding against her ribs from both relentless running and a fear so strong it forbid her from looking back. Squinting against the overbearing sunlight, she focussed on dodging the trees that were blocking her path until a pesky branch, camouflaged by moss and leaves, caught her foot and slammed her forward. Scrambling to hide herself, she crawled beneath a tree and brought her knees to her chest.

She was listening intently for any signs of someone following her. Nothing. Only birds chirping contently high above. She got to her feet, feeling a sense of power rising from within her and with each breath it grew stronger and stronger. Inconvenient as it was, most of what she had learned about her powers was through her own raw experience, travelling alone was more difficult than she had expected which left her with little control over time jumping. She felt a pull forwards, like she was losing her balance and about to fall, her vision blurred and when the haze cleared she realised she was not in a forest anymore.

_**San Francisco, 2003.**_

Ava was spat out of the air as quickly as she had been sucked up, and landed onto something hard and cold that left her shoulder stinging. She guessed there would be a rather gruesome bruise to take care of later. Her muscles ached, dried blood settled on her clothes from her wounds. The back of her throat burned from running as she rested her hands against her knees to steady herself and catch her breath. It was then that she realised she was somewhere urban, an alleyway; traffic could be heard not far from where she stood. She had landed on the concrete ground which now bore smears of her blood on the spot she had fallen.

Limping forward to get a closer look at the era she had just landed in, she watched passersby from a distance. The world was fast paced and bright, a land of steel and concrete with blinking traffic lights and blaring luminescent signs. It still wasn't a world she was adjusted to, despite its similarity to 1988, a part of her longed for the simplicity of dresses that modestly cloaked her skin and secretly reading books by candlelight in the night. Denim had remained a staple item of clothing and too her relief there was much less neon. Vehicles were bigger and better while cell phones were compact and mobile, the world didn't seem to have changed all that drastically. Not on the surface at least.

Clutching her injured shoulder, Ava stepped out onto the sidewalk hoping she wouldn't attract too much unwanted attention. A few pedestrians glared at the girl who looked like she had just fought a truck and lost, but she kept her eyes down and her feet moving, looking up every so often for signs as to where or when she was. On the street corner, there was a newsstand with stacks of glossy magazines and gossip tabloids on shelves while newspapers were stuffed into a rack. She reached for one, The Bay Mirror, recognising it as the local San Francisco paper. It wasn't often she ended up in the same place after time jumping. Like lightening striking twice, rare but not impossible. She frantically searched for the black printed date in the corner, October 5th 2003. Fifteen years, she could manage fifteen years. When she first travelled alone she often jumped further ahead than intended and catching up with a new way of life proved difficult. Allowing her eyes to wander over the front page, an advertisement caught her eye.

_Ask Phoebe, she has all the answers. Phoebe Halliwell replies to your letters on page 13._

Halliwell. There could have been dozens of Halliwell's in the city but it seemed like too much of a coincidence, a distant relative perhaps, a cousin, a sister. A memory clicked into place. Prue had a sister, in fact she had two. She had met them once briefly, remembering that they, like their sister, shared names beginning with P.

She thought of the moment left behind in 1988, her attacker in the woods, Prue left waiting. She hoped that he hadn't discovered her connection to Prue, that he hadn't harmed her. It made her chest hurt to think that Prue's life had been taken from her so soon. No, she needed reassurance, if only a quick glance to see her enjoying life. After all, there was no harm in just looking, just to answer the questions plaguing her thoughts. She needed to find out what had happened to Prue all those years ago. Her stinging wounds could wait.

She vaguely remembered the house's address. Preston? No, Prescott Street. She began walking, it wasn't far from here. She soon realised it was in fact far from there and by the time she had reached the street filled with Victorian houses, she wanted nothing more than to collapse and rest her aching bones.

She remembered the house's red exterior and stained glass windows, nothing much had changed in the last fifteen years. She climbed the concrete steps, hesitating in front of the door, took a deep breath and pressed her finger to the door bell.

The doorbell chimed and she could hear footsteps growing closer and closer. Her heart fluttered inside her chest, she was more nervous than she thought. The door swung open with a gentle creak, revealing a brunette with hair swishing against her waist, almost as long as Ava's, frowning slightly at the bruised stranger standing before her. "Can I help you?" she enquired, her voice soft.

"Is this the Halliwell residence?" Ava's voice was raspy, her throat dry.

The brunette tilted her head, "Yes, it is. Do I know you?" Ava glanced down at her feet, not sure where to look. "I was looking for someone...someone who used to live here. Maybe she-Her name is Prue. Prue Halliwell."

The brunette's face dropped, her eyes filled with sorrow. "Oh, I'm sorry. Prue...passed away."

There was a lump in Ava's throat she couldn't quite swallow, "When?" she choked out.

"Two years ago." An infant's sobbing cries came from within the house. The brunette shouted over her shoulder, "Wyatt honey, Mommy's coming!" When she turned back to the stranger on her doorstep, she was gone.

Ava was running, her lungs burning inside her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs. It was a mistake coming back to find Prue, her efforts to protect her all those years ago had worked but she hadn't considered her death occurring in the prime of her life.

After settling her infant son, Piper clutched a baby monitor as she made her way downstairs, listening for any sounds of her child stirring in his sleep. Chris leaned against the wall, "Who was at the door?" he asked. His charge narrowed her eyes for a moment, like she was trying to recall a memory. "Nobody important." She replied. Although she wasn't sure she believed her own words. It wouldn't be the first time an innocent had arrived on her doorstep searching for the help of the infamous Charmed Ones.

There was something off about this girl; Piper wondered how she knew Prue. Chris walked away, satisfied with her answer, but she still felt like there was something she was missing. There was something about her that was so familiar.


	2. Bloodstream

_Sorry, I intended to have this chapter out sooner but I've been having internet issues. Reviews are very much appreciated, Thank You._

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The look in her eyes that night. The portal a gash of silver in the attic wall. It choked his breath and pinched his heart to leave her there, in that world. Bianca. The ring that she had placed in his palm, her lips pressed to his skin. Those were the memories that kept him focused. '_You're the only one who can save us_,' her voice had whispered. A sharp pain gnawed through his skull, disrupting his daydream.

The ringing in his ears was back; it had begun early this morning and had now developed into a stubborn headache. While Leo, becoming an increasing annoyance, didn't seem to buy the Elder's theory that a demon sent him to Valhalla. He winced, ignoring Leo's glare, the irritating headache was taking hold of his concentration and wearing down his patience. Leo had been behaving like his shadow ever since his return, never even trying to disguise his obvious glares.

He was so very angry. Angry that even in this world, before knowing who he really was, Leo was still against him. Angry that he left the woman he loved behind in a hell created by own brother. But more than anything, angry that he felt so much burning hatred towards the brother he had once idolised.

"Chris, are you even listening to me?" He was snapped back into reality, facing Phoebe's irritated glare. His patience evaporated. "Yes, Phoebe, you're an empath now. It's hard. Get over it." Phoebe exhaled heavily and gawked at him, appalled.

"Feeling a little irritated, Chris?" Leo asked, an eager smile playing on his lips.

"Yes, if you must know."

His smile widened, "Little bit of a migraine?"

Leo looked like he was genuinely enjoying watching him figure out that he knew something that Chris didn't. "What's going on?" He asked sternly. Phoebe darted her eyes between the two, "I'm sensing a lot of tension in this room." Both of them seemed to ignore her comment as Leo continued.

"I've discussed your situation with the other elders and I-we have come up with a solution. Think of it as a learning curve, gaining some experience."

"What are you talking about?"

"You've been assigned a new charge." Leo did little to hide his euphoria at being the one to break the news. Chris's lips were pressed together like he was trapping all the words he wanted to shout in his father's face. But he wouldn't, he had more self control than that.

"Have you forgotten that I'm already responsible for three Charmed Ones? I don't have time for-" he was interrupted.

"And that's exactly why you've been assigned a new charge. The sisters are very important to the greater good, to the world, and any whitelighter of theirs requires a certain level of...experience. If you can prove to the elders that you can manage one more charge then you can stay their whitelighter. If not...well I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

How convenient, and if he failed this task then Leo would most likely be next in line for the job. He was ruining everything. If his plan to save the future was going to have any hope at all it was mandatory for him to be the sister's whitelighter, and that was a difficult task even on slow days. He didn't have room in his head to worry over a stranger's well being.

He laughed half heartedly. "You still don't trust me, do you?"

"No, Chris, I don't. I don't believe anything you have to say."

"I told you, I came back to save your son." That part was true, and it struck a nerve. The tension had risen.

A newly empathic Phoebe stood with arms raised between them. "I understand your frustration. Believe me," she began, "but Leo you need to cut him some slack. Chris has been sending us after demon after demon. He's doing really well. And Chris, Leo has every right to be suspicious when his son is involved, it's what fathers do." He bit his tongue to stop from laughing in her face at the idea of Leo being an honourable father. "Which is why you're going to take on this new charge and pass this test with flying colours." She seemed proud of her speech, beaming at each of them as they absorbed her words. Another throb sent shock waves through Chris's skull, like a drill tearing through bone. He pressed his palm to his head.

"Looks like your charge needs you. You better go find her." Leo added before Chris orbed out of that room and far from his estranged father's arrogant tone.

"You know you're setting him up to fail, right?" Phoebe folded her arms across her chest.

"I like to think of it as testing his capability." Leo said, satisfaction evident on his face.

~.~.~

With arms folded across her chest and dried blood staining her skin, Ava paced frivolously along from street to street, not caring where she ended up. Her friend was dead. Her _only_ friend was dead. Everyone she loved was dead. She could hear birds singing from treetops, a harmonic sound. She wished it made her happy, the beauty of orchestral birds. She wished she could cry. She wished she could feel anything at all. There was a weight in her chest and it was burning a hole right through her bones. She knew there was something missing.

"Don't stare." A mother hissed to her young child before dragging him along by his plump little arm. Her appearance had slipped her mind; bruises on her skin, crimson crusted onto her clothes and limping on one leg.

She was near a children's playground, presumably nearing the centre of the city. There was a rusting swing set next to a bright citrus climbing frame and monkey bars, but there were hardly any children around. One mother was zipping up a little pink coat on her daughter; another was scooping a toddler with thick jet black curls up into her arms. She tried to remember if her own mother had ever taken her to a playground.

Before she realised it, she was alone again. Reaching her fingers to her neck, she traced the thin gold chain that was always kept heavily concealed underneath her clothes. She pulled on it until an intricately decorated locket was revealed at the end of the chain, fitting perfectly in the palm of her hand. She opened its golden clasp to reveal a clock's face on the inside. It was a pocket watch, one that she had had for as long as she could remember. Its tiny hands struck twelve, exact almost to the second. It was no coincidence, she didn't believe in coincidences. It was a sign. Studying the clock's face with a focus so deep she didn't even notice the twinkling orbs of light appearing behind her. But soon after, she did sense a presence lurking behind her, hearing approaching footsteps that sent her paranoid senses into overdrive. She just didn't sense that the person she was about to attack was not there to harm her.

She swung around and suddenly there was a blade in her hand, gleaming in the sunlight. Chris put up his hands defensively, taking a step back. "Whoa, hold on. I'm not-" She lunged at him with her weapon, Chris barely dodged it but he wasn't injured, not yet. She was obviously rattled and he wasn't sure exactly how to explain himself or the _'I'm-your-whitelighter'_ situation.

Her eyes crashed into his, steel grey and cold in a way that meant she was prepared to do anything to keep him from getting too close. He was almost impressed. The longer he observed her stance the more he realised she was wobbling where she stood, her skin bruised, scraped and gravelly pale. "I'm here to help you." He attempted to explain, but she shook her head in response. "I know who you work for. I know..." she struggled to catch her breath, "...know what you do."

"Then you know that I'm just here to help you." He repeated, his hands still raised. "Liar." She mumbled half under her breath, tightening her grip on the weapon in her hand. Chris noticed the nasty looking slice through her leg, torn fabric splattered with dark blood weeping from the wound. Blood that looked almost black. Something was wrong. He wasted no time in seizing her wrist to loosen her grip on the blade, which proved easier than he thought as it slipped from her grasp and out of her reach. She fought tooth and nail with what little strength she had left but his arms still found their way around her, holding her tight.

She had only managed to pry his limbs away from her when she realised her surroundings had changed entirely. Chris watched her eyes widen and her breathing quicken. She was somewhere inside, it could have been a house but her vision blurred and the ground tilted under her feet. Chris caught her limp body before she hit the ground.

"Oh my god." Piper rushed in, kneeling next to the unconscious stranger in her whitelighter's arms, "What happened?"

"I have no idea. She saw me and freaked." Her body was limp in his arms, she was out cold. Piper recognised her as the stranger she had met only hours ago and felt a throb of guilt at the thought of not helping her when she had first arrived. She placed an outstretched hand onto her forehead, "Chris, she's burning up."

He carried her the short distance to the sofa, setting her down gently. He brushed strands of fair hair from her face, her skin like flames under his touch. Piper was right, she was burning up. In that moment he knew that she needed to be healed, and as much as he hated to admit it, his only choice was to call for Leo. In the back of his mind he wondered if this was some kind of twisted experiment Leo had planned; assign him a new charge only to have her die in his arms moments later.

"Leo!" Piper called out, apparently on the same wave length as he was. "Leo, come on!" Her tone urgent. He appeared in a glow of light with a look of sheer dread filling his features. Chris knew that look, he had seen it when he was fifteen and Wyatt had come home drenched in blood that was not his own and offered no explanation to his father of where it had come from.

"What's going on? Is Wyatt alright?"

"Wyatt's fine, it's Chris's charge that needs your help." She led him over to the sofa where the unconscious guest lay. Leo frowned. "What did you do?" He demanded, kneeling next to the girl and pushing Chris aside, regarding him as if he was directly responsible for her injuries.

"Nothing! She-" Again he was interrupted. This was becoming a habit.

"How long has her leg been like this?"

"How should I know? She was like this when I found her." Glancing at her injury, he realised it looked much worse. She was still bleeding but the blood from the wound was darker now, black as ink at first glance.

"It's your job to know." Leo growled, a golden glow radiating from his palms. But they made little difference to the state of the wound, wearing on Chris's patience. "What's taking so long?" He asked some tense moments later.

"I don't know. Something is slowing down the healing process."

"You mean like a spell?" Piper asked.

"No, it's more like a poison. The wound on her leg is probably the cause of it. It's in her bloodstream." He was looking only at Piper, leaving Chris feeling as useless as when he brought her here. He knew that there was nothing he could do and Leo knew it too.

"So what are you suggesting," his words dripping with sarcasm, "That we amputate?"

Leo narrowed his eyes, "No, smartass. But the healing process is going to take longer than I expected." Piper started towards the hallway. "I'll check the book, find out who-or what-did this to her. Maybe there's a cure." Leo nodded in reply. It took him all of two minutes to take control of the situation, making himself out to be some kind of hero. It was infuriating.

A number of hours had passed by and nothing had changed. Every so often Leo would hover his hands over the open wound and sigh when each attempt seemed to fail. Chris, in his attempt to make himself feel useful, shifted from his standing position by the wall to the seat opposite the sofa and finally settled on standing with arms folded next to the sofa where his charge lay unconscious.

She was breathing at least. He could tell because the sound had become ragged and uneven. There was a softness in her features he hadn't noticed before. Watching her now, his eye caught a metallic glimmer hung around her neck, a slither of golden chain that led to something clasped tightly in her hand. He wondered what it was, realising that the object must have dire importance to her to have remained in her grasp throughout her unconscious stage.

Leo exhaled loudly as he got to his feet. "Why are you stopping?" Chris enquired, meeting his father's tired eyes with a reluctant kindness. Leo replied, "I've done everything that I can. The wound is beginning to heal, I can sense it, but whatever poisoned her will take days to work its way out of her system." Noting the concern on Chris's face, he continued in an attempt of reassurance. "She's going to be alright, Chris. She could wake up at any moment." Chris's eyes wandered to the ground as he nodded slowly. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as neither knew what to say next. Chris considered thanking him but Leo was the one to disrupt the silence. He had headed upstairs, leaving Chris alone with his charge.

He sat next her, looking down at the scrapes on that were still visible on her cheek. A strange sense of guilt rose to the surface within him. He didn't want her to die thinking that he was her enemy. Further observing her features, he saw the innocence in her sleeping face, peaceful almost. He placed his hand gently on hers. Her fingers were so cold. "Sorry." He mumbled under his breath.

His entire body went still when he felt her hand move away from his. He looked up to see a pair of cold grey eyes staring back at him, eyes that flooded with a fury at the sight of the man who she believed had been sent to kill her.


End file.
